“Fibromyalgia is Just a Group of Symptoms”
I want to write! I want to tell you about all that is going on inside of me, but it is trapped. It is trapped in my analytical mind and entangled in the swirl of emotions I feel. I struggle to put feelings into words. I feel, I know, I do, and I am, don’t ask me to (what is that word?) …verbalize what all of the feels are. Words are so inadequate in describing feelings.
Feelings are color and sound and taste; there is adrenaline and temperature, there is light and dark. How can you harness all of that and just say happy or sad? I know there are many words that mean much more than happy or sad, but they pale in comparison to the feels.
There are many writers that can transport you to those magical moments where shivers run down your spine, and you sense the mist of the forest settle on your skin. These wordsmiths possess a magic I envy.
I have fibromyalgia. I want to tell you what it is like and the emotions I feel but how? When I tell you my body hurts from head to toe, you do not get a sense of the weight that I bear unless you too feel this weight. How can you comprehend something you have not felt? My hubby has lived with me through this horrible prison but still cannot wrap his brain around no pain points, just all over pain.
So I guess I will write for those who do bear this burden, those who feel this pain that no words can describe because you too struggle to put into words what it feels like to feel all of the feels.
It is Trapped Emotions
I have just started to see a doctor who tells me that fibromyalgia is just a group of symptoms, it is trapped emotions and a body that works to destroy itself faster than it can heal. When he first said this, my blood began to pulse harder, and I was braced for a fight. How could he insult me this way?
How could he be so calloused to say that the years of suffering I have been through are just a group of symptoms and that fibromyalgia is not really a disease? It has stolen so much of my life! There are periods of my kid’s early childhood I don’t remember. It has taken away my personality and left me with a tired shell, a shadow of who I really am.
As the blood coursed through my veins, my jaw tightened, and my fists began to clinch, then he said something I will never forget. He looked me straight in the eye with so much compassion and caring and said, “You can get better.” Tears welled up in my eyes as I fought to keep my composure.
You Can Get Better!
I have tried for weeks to share with you the emotions this brought up in me, but I still struggle to find the words. Tears so deep they could only come from the depths of the ocean began to push on the corners of my eyes. I pushed back because I feared the tidal wave that might break through if I opened up.
A little spark of hope began to flicker, but I was scared to look and see what it would reveal. It had to be so beautiful. How could I look at the beauty if it was something I could never experience? Could I really get better or was he just trying to sell me something?
Shivers of cold and a shadow that could blot out the sun rolled over me as I felt the fear of being offered something that wasn’t actually attainable. I was so scared to step out and try or even consider that my body could heal, because if I put my faith there and remained trapped in the cold chains of fibromyalgia how could I recover from that devastation?
You know that quote that says it is better to have loved and lost than not loved at all? It has always been hard for me to comprehend. Disappointment is such a dark and terrible place to be when you have so much on the line. I am the stability my kids look for, what if I plummet into despair? Maybe it is better to accept the status quo, you know, count your blessings, rather than reach for my dreams.
But remember that little spark? It wouldn’t stop flickering. My doctor asked me to think about something I cannot do now that I want to be able to do? Again, a flood of emotions pushed on the very thin and rickety dam that I tried to keep up to contain them. I was lost for words. It was so scary to be asked to dream again. I told him that any improvement over what I feel now would be great.
“She loves to Hike!”
He looked to my husband as he felt me pull back and hide in my shell, I just couldn’t do it. “She loves to hike!” said my hubby. I was so disconnected now that the sounds were muffled and it was like watching a movie but not really being present.
“Perfect,” exclaimed my doctor, “I will have you hiking in the mountains by June!” Fear shivered down my spine, and I was lost in the sea of emotions that swirled and spun around me. I struggled to pull myself together and wobbled out of his office because I was so weak in the knees.
I cry and cry and cry some more. No matter what I do, that glimmer of hope won’t give up. I can’t turn back now I have to dream!